


The Way Back Home

by Corpyburd



Series: Lost Threads of Ripper Street [4]
Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Drama, Gen, Missing Threads, Period Typical Attitudes, Savefrankie, Spoilers, Victorian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-11-18 20:30:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11298285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corpyburd/pseuds/Corpyburd
Summary: Seeking the recovery of a dead boy from Whitechapel,  DS Frank Thatcher is shot and left for dead.But someone is watching!





	1. Redemption

Reid had been exact in his map directions and it was, indeed, a shallow grave in the marshes.  
  
As he dug, Frank couldn't contain his tears anymore, they began to rolled down his face with a mornful cry of "Oh Robin" over the young boy's body.  
  
A cold voice rang out from behind him.  
  
"How did you know where to find him, Sergeant?"  
  
"Mr Reid told me where" faltered Frank, turning his head to face Augustus Dove, wiping the tears from his eyes.  
  
"And what will you do with him now?"  
  
"Get him his retribution." cried Frank.  
  
"An admirable instinct, Mr Thatcher, a policeman's instinct." And Dove cocked his handgun .... CRACK.  
  
Frank fell back on his knees. It was as though a sledge hammer had hit him, he couldn't hear properly, his head spinning and he couldn't move.  
  
Dove was talking but he could not make out was he was saying, the noise of the gun seemed to have deafened him, a dizziness, reeling, he was struggling to breathe then finally he fell back onto the ground.  
  
Then he felt himself being dragged, dragged by Dove down the riverbank and into the river. He was numb yet cold, a wetness on his shoulder spread, then pain.  
  
Finally Dove pulled him into the middle of the river, still talking, flipped him over, face down into the water and pushed him into the rivers fast current.  
  
The current snatched his body, pulling him downstream as Dove reclimbed the river bank to do the same to the body of the boy Robin.  
  
But he was being watched.  
  
Facedown in the cold fast swirling eddies of the river, Frank frantically tried to breathe, his right arm ....trying ... flailing ... grabbing .... at anything within reach .... then suddenly his jacket caught on something .....a dead branch, submerged in the water, it broke, releasing his body, turning him, spinning him round and round then onto his back.  
  
He gasped .... coughed water .... he gasped for air, the water so cold, his body so cold, the current becoming faster, his body being dragged into the forward surge that then became a mad dash downriver.  
  
Again he tried to grab with his right hand.  
  
Then his head struck rock. Darkness.  
  
  
"Gunshot?" a woman's harried voice said emerging from the marsh reed bed.  
  
"WAS that gunshot Abe?" Jean hurriedly stepped back into the little sail boat. She quickly lay the brace of dead ducks and her other items at the bow of the small sail boat.  
  
With his mariners telescope Abe had been watching the whole macabre scene unfold as soon as he had heard the gun shot that sent the roosting birds into circled flight.  
  
"Abe, ABE, what skulduggery, is at work here?" she fretted.  
  
Jean deposited the ducks with the others into a wooden box and carefully pushed one creel with duck eggs into another box, the other creel, with herbs and plant beside her medicine bag.  
  
The light of the day was rapidly fading but Abe was readying the boat for sail.  
  
"What did you see?"  
  
"After that shot? 2 bodies into the river. The second one looks like a child."  
  
"NO, OH NO!" Jean's voice full of emotions, grabbing the mast as she turned to Abe. "A mother and child?"  
  
"I can't tell, from this distance Jean, but .... there was someone else on the other bank ... watching."  
  
Jean's eyes widened as Abe went on.  
  
"Fished the child's body out ...... once the other man had gone, he did. Happened so fast, what murderous arrangement is this? And the other also gone - in opposite direction - neither looked back.!"  
  
"But the mothers body, it is ... left to the current?"  
  
"Yes. But been rolled by the force of the river and is caught over by yon bank. The tide is turning, it won't be there for long."  
  
The boat's dark red sails caught the wind and it slipped silently across the water like a ghost in the evening twighlight. She was like a toy in Abe's hands. The ships he had sailed round the world's oceans, far larger than this, but he knew this river, this estuary, and the sea, as did his father and his grandfather before him.  
  
"Get the net Jean and hang it over the side. And use the hook on the end of the oars. I will run alongside the poor souls body. We can net it and bring it aboard."  
  
"At least for a prayer and Christian burial Abe, as decent people should." her voice cracking with emotion.  
  
"Yes pet. I know. I know what your thinking."  
  
As the boat swung round and then down along the body, Jean gasped "it's a man, a young man. God, no!" She was now extending the oar with attached net.  
  
Abe had fixed the traveler line on the boom and a rope fixing on the tiller so the boat would run smoothly by without coming to close to the riverbank.  
  
Jean stood in bow as the boat moved slowly now, she then extended the other side of the net into the water and under the body. Abe took up the other oar until the body of the man was now encircled by the net.  
  
"1, 2, 3, lift." And they both pulled the young man's body into the boat.  
  
The man coughed.  
  
"Fished us in a LIVE one Jean!" exclaimed Abe in shock.  
  
Jean was now on her knees scrabbling to remove the net and examine this young man. She checked his mouth, nose, his breathing and pulse.  
  
"Quick Abe - throw me your bosuns knife. His wet clothes will need to come off before he freezes to death?"  
  
"He's definitely been shot." Her hands running over his torso now bloodied. "his waistcoat ..." She was talking aloud as Abe moved back to unrope the tiller and headed the boat back out of the river mouth into the main Thames.  
  
"The ..... the bullet hole to his chest .... but .... he should be dead .... what this?  
  
Her hand struck something metal. There was a hidden breast pocket on the inside of the waistcoat.  
  
Pulling at the blood soaked silk handkerchief which was wrapped round the metal object, she noticed that it was bent, as if it had been struck by some force to misshape it.  
  
She took it out and threw it at Abe's feet and continued to examine the lad. The bullet had gone through his upper chest but above his heart and exited through his shoulder at the top. Broken bones and blood loss. She could plug the holes to prevent more blood loss and hopefully he was young and strong enough to recover. As long as there was nothing more major internally. She touched the cut on his head. Superficial she thought.  
  
Taking the bosuns knife she cut off his jacket, waistcoat and shirt, throwing them, again down towards Abe. She cut through his trousers. No injuries. Just his own blood soak.  
  
She grabbed her medicine bag to retrieve her bottle of alcohol. But it was nearly empty. "ABE" she shouted. I know you have alcohol on this boat ... I need it ... If this lad is to see another sunrise?"  
  
"If you put your right hand behind you .....you will find a small demijohn of potcheen."  
  
"Oh, so talking to the Irish lads was trade, not gossip?" came her sarcastic reply.  
  
"A bit of both pet" he went on. "Family of old friends." "A bit of trade creates a bit of trust." he chuckled.  
  
She grabbed the demijohn and emptied its contents onto the cotton strips she had taken from her bag and cleaned his wounds. The bleeding had stopped. Perhaps the cold of the water had helped. He stirred and groaned.  
  
Taking out her laudanum she managed to get him to swallow some small amounts using her measuring spoon. Glad he did not vomit it back up she began to manipulate the bones, after all she was a bone setter. He gave a small groan again but she could feel his bones move back, careful not to start any bleeding again.  
  
If she could get him home she would have her full store of medicine and her seaweeds.  
  
Putting sphagnum moss on his wounds she began to strap his left side with her cotton strips and moved him onto his right side then onto the oilskins, placed her folded woollen shawl under his head and wrapped their woollen blanket round him that had been earlier used as an impromptu picnic table for her and Abe.  
  
Lastly, she used a canvas tarpaulin to swaddle wrap him to prevent him moving. She hoped the laudanum would give him some ease of sleep.  
  
The sail boat was now picking up speed down the middle of the channel as darkness eventually fell. The boat was almost unnoticed under the twinkling lights along the Thames.  
  
"A fair wind and the tide is with us Jean. A swift smooth run home for you?" But he was now talking to his boat.  
  
"I've done everything I can for him now, Abe. He is weak from blood loss just now though he is young and strong. But I will need to sit with him."  
  
Abe nodded then lit his pipe and the aroma of cherry tobacco now filled the night air. He looked up to the stars in the sky, then to Jean sitting beside the lad. And he smiled.  
  
He now picked up the blood soaked hanky as Jean went through the lads pockets.  
  
"Nothing with his name on it - no wallet - some coin - an old knife - the handle just fell apart - a map - looks as if it's been written on but the water has made the ink run."  
  
Abe sucked back on his pipe, lighting up his face as he unrapped the hanky.  
  
"No monogram on this." He was now examining the knife. "This has been a pretty piece Jean. And I would say it's probably what saved him. Look, you can see where the bullet hit it!"  
  
"It's strange that it was wrapped in that handkerchief in an inside pocket, Abe, is it not? Yet the other knife in his side pocket is about useless?  
  
"Hmmm" he raised an eyebrow as he sucked back on his pipe in thought.  
  
Then he began to sing.  
  
" _Farewell and adieu unto you Spanish ladies,_  
  
_Farewell and adieu to you ladies of Spain. ___  
  
_For it's we've received orders for to sail for old England. ___  
  
_But we hope very soon we shall see you again. ___  
  
_We'll rant and ....." ___  
  
"ABE!" cut in Jean. "Leave BE!."  
  
Frank's eyes had opened momentarily at the singing. He saw sails ruffle in the wind and felt the movement of the boat beneath him and now ... someone humming a tune. It brought him a sense of calm.  
  
He slept.  
  
He found himself in a dark alley, the walls closing in, he could hear shouting, wailing and screaming. Towering buildings bending over him. Then there was a sense of a dark ominous figure behind him and he could hear it walking up towards him, he turned but it's the face obscured and garbed in a long black coat and black bowler hat.  
  
"ESCAPE" - a man's voice hissed - "E...S...C...A...P....E."  
  
He felt himself being dragged away from the threatening scene and then he was in open farmland. He was standing in front of a small holding. An elderly woman dressed in black and black bonnet turned round. She had bunches of lavender in her arms. Looking at her, he was sure he knew her. She smiled at him. "You shouldn't be here!" and pointed to her right.  
  
In front of him was a coastal path, the sea air was fresh and ahead and in the distance he could see a woman in a blue dress. Her long blond hair all braided to her left hand side. Now she turned her head and he could see that she was pleased to see him. And .... he recognised that face! ..... he began to walk quickly, then to run as she had put out her arms to be embraced.  
  
Then suddenly he was falling .... spinning .... falling .... uncontrollably .... into the darkness .... he could not stop .... he was in panic .... could not breathe .... scared ... sweating.  
  
It seemed he tipped forward and he suddenly sat up. It was a bed and he realised that something was hanging from his mouth .... he pulled at it with his right hand - he couldn't move his left .... a rubberised tube ..... his head spinning .... trying to focus .... the pungent smell .... he vomited!  
  
A cool cloth was wiped across his forehead. "Easy now." and he stopped fighting his feelings, his surroundings, his stupor. "Just lie still and you'll be fine." came a calm womans voice. His body relaxed and the smell from the cloth was a fresh scent.  
  
"Here drink this." as a metal mug was put to his lips and he drank. It was sweet and pleasant.  
  
Everything came into focus. An elderly woman was attending to him. She had now removed his vomit ridden blanket and placed a fresh one over him. He looked around him - it was a small cottage but he could hear sea birds outside as well as other noises.  
  
The smell of cherry tobacco started to fill the air and he noticed a bearded man standing in the door way.  
  
"How doo lad. Glad to see you awake. Gave us a right scare, you did." and he puffed on his pipe.  
  
"So lad, what will we be callin you? Nothin in your pockets to tell us who you are?"  
  
Frank looked at the man and then to the woman but did not say anything.  
  
"I'm Abe but most folks round here call me Cap. And this fair lady." He smiled now pointing his pipe at the woman "... is Jean. And has doctored you back into the land of the living."  
  
There was a pause. "I'm ...... I'm ..... I'm ..." Frank struggled. Tried in vane, but he could not, for the life of him, remember his name."  
  
I can't .... I can't remember .... who .... I am!"  
  



	2. A Washbowl and Jug

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another bed bath!

Try as he might no memory came back to him. Confusion only served to bring on a headache, his thoughts in a fog.

After several moments he closed his eyes and fell into a fitful sleep.

When awake he gagged, every time medicine was given and he stank – he knew it – that feeling of being ill with its sweat and grime.

Fevers and the exhaustion followed him as well as the lucid dark dreams.

Yet when conscious, this woman who tended to him, Jean, emanated a deep confidence in what she was doing and her care of him that he did not question.

Changing the dressings she inspected his shoulder. “Good.” She murmured then taking his left hand she pressed it. “Can you feel that?” her eyes were intense blue, watching his every reaction.

“Yeah. How long ... how long have I been here?”

“And this?” and she began to pinch each finger.

“YES. But how long have I been HERE?” he replied as next finger was tweaked.

“Good. No damage to the tendons but don’t dare move that arm until I tell you. Keep flexing your fingers ... and the wrist if you can?”

He nodded as he looked down while she reapplied fresh bandages and looked up again and then around the room for the man who had been with Jean.

“What ... what happened to me? “

“Well, we were hoping YOU could tell us that, Lad?

But his blank look prompted her on. “Shot, my lad. You’ve ... been ... shot. By whom, we don’t know ... or why.”

She gave him a reassuring smile then. “Oh, don’t worry, you’ll live. Bones and muscles are knitting back nicely. But just need time lad. No sudden movements. Now, how about something to eat and drink, eh? Keep your strength up.”

Frank’s begging childlike gaze made her sigh heavily.

“You’ve been here just over 2 weeks lad. A bad fever came over you after the last time you were able to talk.”

“ _Two weeks_!” how could he have lost 2 weeks?

“A bath, I NEED to bathe myself?” he pleaded.

“I DON’T want you moving THAT arm!” Came the angry reply. “If you want another bed bath ....?”

His shamefaced expression said it all. “ANOTHER bed bath! When ...” and quickly shrank under his blankets – he realised he was naked.

Jean laughed. “Listen lad. I spend every day ... attending to all types of sick souls! From newborn babes to the old and dying. I’ve seen every type of corpse you can imagine, no need to be so bashful.”

“But ...” he pleaded, his right hand gripping the blankets tightly.

“Listen, if you really feel strong enough you can sponge yourself. I’ll get a wash bowl and a jug of hot water. I’ll make sure you have fresh linen too.”

“I am ... grateful, honest. Grateful for the care. When I am able, I will repay that care. I make that a promise” Said Frank.

Gathering the old dressings in her arm she enquired “Has anything come back, any memory from before?”

Shutting his eyes he spoke “I’ve tried Jean, really tried, but nothing. The more I think on it, it only serves to ache my head. Was there nothing in my pockets, a wallet surely something?”

“Nothing lad. There’s what looks like a map. Can’t make head nor tale of it, faded it is, being covered in blood and ink, some coin, and 2 pocket knives- one broken.”

She got up and retrieved an item that was sitting on the windowsill. “And this one from your inside breast pocket of your waistcoat. You know ...” turning the knife round in her hand, “... it saved your life.” she then threw it onto his bed in front of him.

Picking it up with his right hand, he eyed it keenly. Something had hit it at great force to distort its form. Frank pressed it to his forehead, as if it would divulge its secrets to him, but only felt the cold of the mother of pearl and silver. He then fell back onto the pillow, staring at the ceiling, with the knife still pressed to his forehead.

“The clothes we found you in are ruined. Sorry but I had to cut through them. There over in the corner if you want to pick through them but you’ll need clothes. I’ll need to see to that. Can’t have you running around here ... naked.”

Jean tidied up, taking the dressings with her and left.

His eyes felt heavy again so he placed the knife under his bed.

When he awoke again it was dark and there was a lamp lit beside him.

Voices came from the next room and Jean appeared again with a metal wash basin and jug. “You wanted to wash?”

“Yes but where? As he righted himself to sit up with his one good arm.

She passed him a towel and then took a large piece of canvas which was attached to a rope. It was then Abe who came in to help her hoist it up, partitioning a corner of his room. She placed the basin, jug of hot water and towel within. “I’ll leave the soap in there too.” And she left the room.

Frank grimaced as he placed his feet on the stone floor. It. Was. Cold. He shivered and pulled a blanket round himself tightly as he finally stood up but rather shakily.

“You need a hand lad?” interrupted Abe.

“No. no I’m fine.” He was determined to do this for himself.

“Give me them old sheets and blanket and I can leave you to it. Get you some clean ones.”

Frank took some tentative steps and made it to the basin. He lifted the soap to smell. “Mmmh” he murmured. It was a honey smell with a hint of a woody spice. A clean, fresh smell.

Trying to wash with one hand proved difficult at the least but with an arm strapped to his body and remembering what Jean had said resonated in his mind.

Dipping the soap into the jug he began to lather it against himself, and then lose his patience. The soap jumped out of his hand several times, scrabbling around to retrieve it.

He tried to lift the metal jug but it was heavy so he dragged it nearer to the basin and poured some hot water into the bottom to stand in.

Being lighter it was easier to raise and so he managed to rinse himself in the basin. Immediately he felt cold again as he tried to dry himself off.

Movement came from beyond the canvas curtain.

“Fresh bed ready for you lad.” It was Abe, and he passed Frank a clean blanket through the curtain.

Frank began to shiver and pulled the woollen blanket round him.

“Leave those and I’ll get them.” And directed him back to bed.

The shivering intensified as he sat on the bed then he tried to pull the rest of the bedding over him.

“JEAN, JEAN! Bring a hot drink and a stone bottle. He’s chilled. Shivering. Quick!”

Abe lifted Frank’s legs into bed and arranged the bedding.

A steaming mug of hot chocolate appeared courteously from Jean.

It smelt delicious and Frank didn’t hesitate to drink it.

It left a soothing afterglow inside – and his shaking began to diminish as he drained the last dregs from the mug wondering if there had been anything else in it.

Jean came back with a stone hot water bottle and placed it at his feet. The heat began to take effect – he yawned and grew tired again.

“The colours come back into his face.” He heard Abe say “that was a close one.”

“No more basin bath’s until he can move that arm. I’m not chancing his temperature being subnormal and I’m sure you seen that on many a travel?”

Abe began to fill his pipe. “Aye Jean , exposure - the raw cold can take you when you least expect it.”

"That plod at the station wants to see him. But told him he's too sick for questioning." 

Frank heard their voices fade and he drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Potcheen - Irish potato whiskey


End file.
